A Clash of Fates

like rag dolls, into the air. More spells followed, bombarding the black dragon until he staggered into the side of a building.
Under a shower of falling bricks and tiles, Malliath inhaled a sharp breath. Sarkas knew what would follow. Another jet of dragon fire spread out amongst the mage knights, weakening any shields they might build. Then, with great savagery, Malliath leapt from the shattered building and used his gargantuan size to crush the remaining humans. His claws lashed out, raking those lucky enough to have avoided his sheer weight.
None survived.
Sarkas wanted to follow the dragon and watch the city’s ruination to its glorious end, but the magic he had conjured grew beyond his control. The young wizard, as he liked to consider himself, was violently pulled and pushed through the currents of time once more.
The world around him blurred into streams of colour as Ak-Tor’s sharp edges vanished altogether. Stars shone through the myriad of colours, dazzling Sarkas into a disorientated state.
When, at last, his vision calmed and the end of days was behind him, Sarkas found himself standing on a beach bathing in golden sunlight. Standing before him, oblivious to the wizard who watched from eons past, was a young man draped in a green cloak and tired leathers.
As soon as Sarkas asked himself who this man was, a single name came to him with perfect clarity.
Alijah Galfrey.
He was treading through the soft sands of The Shining Coast, Sarkas knew, even though he had never visited Illian’s coastline or even laid eyes on The Adean.
Alijah wasn’t alone. Not far behind him was another young man whose name was suddenly emblazoned in the wizard’s mind.
Vighon Draqaro.
The two were friends. No. Closer than friends. They were brothers in bond, if not blood. It felt familiar to Sarkas, who had considered the slaves in The Citadel his brothers.
Through a halo of light, cast over Vighon by the sun, Sarkas caught glimpses of a crown on the northman’s head. His hair had lost some of its colour and, like the crown, it came and went with the vision, lending the man a beard before quickly returning to stubble.
Then came another, behind the king-to-be. Her dark hair succumbed to the sea breeze and took off over her left shoulder. She was a vision of beauty and strength, a combination the young wizard had never come across before.
Inara Galfrey.
Her name hit Sarkas, adding a wave of heat to the ethereal winds that constantly blasted him. She was important to the world, just like the two men who had preceded her.
Inara looked right through him with her startlingly blue eyes, the same shade as Alijah’s. Sarkas watched them ascend the cliffs and return to the green fields of Alborn. The wizard could see that all three of them were entwined, their destinies tied to the realm itself.
It occurred to Sarkas that he didn’t know when he was. There was nothing around him to help distinguish the year and certainly no one to ask. As with everything else, he plucked the knowledge from nowhere and knew he was witnessing events ten thousand years from what he considered to be the present day.
The winds began to change again as time twisted and lurched. Illian’s coast was torn away, replaced by a nauseating swirl of colours and stars. Sarkas could feel his strength waning. For all the secrets he had unlocked from the forbidden books of the Jainus, he simply didn’t have experience or training on his side - just his will.
He continued to defy those powerful winds and ride the spell to its conclusion. He needed to see what was to come. The future had to be better.
The heat of Illian’s coastal sun was replaced by the icy cold of winter. Sarkas took in his new surroundings, desperate to grasp his environment as quickly as possible. He was in the woods, The Wild Moores to be exact. Snow coated everything and it was deathly still but for the sound of feet crunching through undisturbed powder.
The young wizard turned to see Alijah Galfrey again, only this time he was older and more rugged in his appearance. He was ploughing through the snow, bow in hand, searching for something. Sarkas wanted to reach out and touch him but the winds kept his hands at bay.
Then he was gone, flung forward in time again. The pain increased but it was nothing Sarkas hadn’t experienced at the cruel hands of his master. His will endured.
Now, he stood in a damp cave beneath the school known as Korkanath. He looked up at the wet rock aware, without having witnessed the event, that the school above was naught but a charred husk.
Growing comfortable with the nature of the Jainus’s magic, Sarkas stopped marvelling at his knowledge and focused on whatever significant moment was occurring around him before it was too late.
Alijah Galfrey was once again standing before him inside the cave. He was looking up at something, though it was obscured by the torrent of ethereal winds. How long did he have left before he couldn’t see anything at all?
Any question Sarkas might have attempted to answer was forgotten in the wake of the splitting headache that ripped through his mind. He closed his eyes but it made no difference to his vision.
To his left, Alijah remained inside the cave beneath Korkanath but, to his right, was an entirely different environment.
And an entirely different time…
The contrast of both environment and time was difficult to comprehend for a mind so fragile as a human’s, but Sarkas did his best to piece it together without losing too much of his sanity.
Scrutinising the new vision on his right, the young wizard laid weathered eyes on a single dragon egg. The shell was rough and easily mistaken for a lump of ancient stone. Deep purple in colour, it was set apart from the lush green vines and grey rock that surrounded it. Scattered around the egg, Sarkas discovered numerous scorch marks where other dragon hatchlings had been